Perry Mason TCOT Wondering Secretary
by DNPLC
Summary: *What* was Perry Mason thinking in TCOT Wandering Widow? Not even Della Street knows. And considering, I don't think it's an accident that she's not in this episode!


_**TCOT Wondering Secretary, **__righting an __**egregious**__ wrong committed in "TCOT Wandering Widow."_

_**October 22, 1960**_

_**Los Angeles, Perry Mason, Attorney-at-Law**_

Della was sitting in the law library sifting through mountains of research when she heard him say it. At first, she wasn't even sure that what she heard was _really_ what she heard.

How could it be?

Perry Mason prized the talents of secretaries, especially his own. After 11 years of working together and of…_friendship_...was it conceivable that he meant just that; that he prized them _only_ as secretaries and _diversions_? Della was so stunned, so hurt, she felt paralyzed.

Then she heard him call.

"Right here, Perry," she managed through a voice strangled by tears she had no time to cry.

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"_Right here, Perry_."

Perry loved when she uttered those words.

"_Right here, Perry_."

Even during his most anxious moments those words delighted him, and sometimes…_much more_. When Della's sweet, dark voice, as sensuous as brandied cherries, floated in from somewhere in the office, or smoldered out of that machine, he felt professionally assured and personally warmed.

There were only three words; light on content at first glance. Sometimes when she said them he heard her laugh, her goofy sense of humor; other times he heard her sin. Some days she instinctively knew he needed rescue, and on those days the phrase drifted out soft and sweet. To Perry Mason those three little words were synonymous with those much more famous "three little words."

And Della Street _was_ always "right there" for him whether it was in the most remarkable or the most mundane circumstances. Perry knew that too often he took that for granted, in the same way that he took for granted her even temperament.

There was never a need to loft his requests gently although he tried not to sound too demanding. Miss Street could _wear _anything—except a pout—and she wouldn't have known how to be moody if forced under penalty of death. Thinking of her as a colleague instead of a girl was meant to be a compliment although Perry was at least smart enough to understand that _she_ probably didn't always feel complimented.

Most men—and the few women executives and lawyers floating around—thought a great secretary was the best tool in their arsenal. It was certainly that way for Perry but he could see how this "marriage" could be confusing. For Perry and Della being single made it even more difficult, ironically.

Perry had been in love with Della from the moment he laid eyes on her. Della, a true lady who hated the idea of being a cliché, fought the good fight for two years until finally admitting she was in love with him, too. In fairness he suspected then, and knew for sure now, how hard life could be for secretaries in her position; not for their bosses, of course, never for them only for the women.

Della walked in from the library.

"Hi, Beautiful! Thank goodness you're here he went away for a while," Paul teased dragging a cigarette from his lips to tamp it out. "Far…far…away…"

"Sorry, Paul," Perry blushed a bit.

When Della at last smiled at Paul it was a smile he had never quite seen on her before, and it gave him a shiver. Paul immediately reached for his cigarettes, his face strained.

Perry, missing her and delighted to hear "_Right here, Perry_," threw his most flirtatious blue eyes up at Della only to be brought up short by her demeanor.

"I'm going to miss you," he started, suddenly as self-conscious as he was when he was still a loping, pigeon-toed, thick-waisted teen. "But I'm afraid we have too much work for you to come to court with me for the Kendall motion."

Della nodded her head slowly.

"I'll have to rely on my own shorthand," Perry laughed nervously, making sure he showed his "hitch," the one she claimed to love, the one he thought made him look like a hillbilly.

"I wouldn't wish that on a doctor," Paul tried to join in on the joke.

The men chuckled to one another and only one another because Della still hadn't said a word, nor had she made eye contact with either of them. Both men shifted uncomfortably.

"How are you coming with the Johnson case… and the Lawson brief? I know it's a lot but…"

Della put her hands behind her back, cutting him off mid-sentence, "Fine. Just fine. It's stretching my _secretarial_ skills a bit but I think… after all of these years… I can probably handle it."

Perry Mason was wracking his taxed, yet capable brain, zipping through the day, cataloguing every second for the offending one.

There was something very, very wrong with Della Street—clearly his fault as she was not a capricious girl. But what he might have said was a mystery and this wasn't exactly anger—what was it that he was detecting?

"That it?" she asked, her voice deeper than normal, not a trace of suppleness.

Perry just nodded, wide-eyed like a little boy. "Lunch in a little while?"

"You and Paul go on ahead. I've got too much to do."

Perry, alarmed, shot a look at Paul whose eyebrows were already at his hairline. With that Della gave a curt smile and headed back to the law library leaving two jaws hanging in her wake.

"We can bring something back for you…" Perry called after her, hopeful.

"No thank you," Della didn't turn. "I'll order up when I'm ready."

"Oh brother. Are you in trouble." Paul stated without humor. "What _is_ that? I've never seen her like that, have you? I mean you've seen more of her…"

Perry scowled at Paul.

"That's not what I meant. I'm rattled. It seems like…well I don't know what it seems like exactly."

Paul, moving to the leather chair, slung his leg over the arm and lit yet another cigarette.

Perry turned to Paul with an attempt at a boyish smile, "Someone's just hungry."

He convinced neither of them.

"I don't think so, Perry."

"She hasn't had lunch," Perry offered, hope large in his small voice.

"Oh I know," Paul took out a smoke and lit it in his inimitable way. "But that is not hunger. I don't know _what_ that is."

"You said that, Paul," the edge was impossible to keep from his voice.

They sat there a moment, both smoking, both replaying the last 30 minutes when Paul's eyes went wide.

"She been in there the whole time?" Paul nodded toward the law library, sitting up slowly.

"I think so. Why?" Perry had a blank look on his face.

Paul shook his head, gazing out the window before standing slowly and straightening his sport coat.

"Brother…" Paul paused. "You are in more trouble than you know. In fact, you could use _you_. And I don't think even you could argue your way out of this one."

"What?"

Paul stubbed out his cigarette, glowering at him. Flummoxed by his own obvious denseness, Perry started to get angry.

"Paul."

"Sorry this is one of those things you have to figure out for yourself, pal. By the way," Paul was ginning like the Cheshire cat now, "I hope that it bothers you that I _have_ figured it out while you…"

Paul's head was bobbing, partially from laughter, partially because he was feeling very cocky.

"She's just overwhelmed. And hungry."

"Yeah. That's it," Paul just shook his head, "Come on lover boy. I'm hungry, too."

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When he returned Della and Perry attended to business without pleasantries or their usual flirting. When he called her to come in for dictation, the voice that came over the speaker was…wanting.

"Yes, sir."

Sitting at his desk she chose the end instead of sitting at his left elbow, averting her eyes every time he tried to catch them. But catch them he did, just once and only for a moment, just long enough to see what she hadn't let him see before. Alone together hurt blossomed in her eyes.

Perry hid behind his fist, trying to disappear into his head. That morning, he had picked her up at home because her car was in the shop… and because he just liked picking her up when they didn't spend the night together. As if preordained, their apartments were little more than five minutes apart so it was almost criminal not to, Perry reasoned.

October had been chillier than usual and Della, thermos under her arm, was wearing the hooded camel coat that always made her look like a little girl. Whether it was something new, bought often to please him he knew, or an old favorite, one of the pleasures of Perry's day was seeing what she was wearing.

Today, as often the case when they weren't expected in court, her sartorial choice was on the sexy side. He loved the satin, button-down shirt in dark-colored stripes that she wore as close to her skin as a slip and no one wore a pencil skirt, this one black, like Della Street with her tight, perfect figure.

Perry could watch her for hours; whether in clothes or out she was flawless. Strikingly tall her legs went on forever and, like her backside, could have come from a sculptor's chisel. Her hips had the most gentle swell to a tiny waist; and when she swelled again it was into the loveliest breasts he had ever seen. Even the arches of her feet were gorgeous particularly in those extraordinarily sexy black heels she was wearing this morning; so sexy, in fact, that he mentioned them.

"Why thank you!" she smiled with surprise—well perhaps not _that _much surprise. "I don't want you to think you pay me too much but I did splurge. They were in last month's Vogue, Italian…had to send all the way to New York for them."

Della stretched out her leg hiking up her skirt ever so slightly, as Perry nearly drove them off the road. Considering her shoes from every angle, she was clearly pleased with her choice and what they were doing to him.

"I don't pay you enough, Della. You need more of those," they both laughed out loud. "We should take a trip to NYC for a long weekend around the holidays. What do you think about that?"

Della crossed her legs towards him snuggling in closer as he wrapped an arm around her.

"You're the boss," she purred.

"That's not like you…" Perry laughed and squeezed her close.

"What?" Della's hazel eyes went wide, mystified.

Perry slowed down for a yellow light that obliged him by quickly turning red. Tipping her chin up he said just before kissing her smiling lips, "To lie."

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"Ready when you are," Della prodded, her voice still deep, flat, cold.

"I'm sorry I was just…collecting my thoughts," Perry's eyes kept searching her face but she dropped her eyes to her steno pad.

Putting it out of his mind, Perry dove into the dictation. Rattling it off faster than usual, Della scribbled away efficiently, seemingly relieved to concentrate on the work even as it was clear to both of them that he was racing her. On his last word she crossed something and they finished simultaneously. When he smiled at their years-old, inside joke she suddenly looked as if she wanted to cry.

Having pity on her, he just thanked her so she could leave, watching as those sexy heels moved so crisply across the carpet that it sounded like tile.

As she headed out the door he called, "I need …"

"The material for court tomorrow right away, the letters can wait," the last words were almost spoken from the other side of the door but he could still see her cover her face with her steno pad as she pulled the doorknob after her.

The remainder of the day Della left her desk only to bring in the transcriptions, barely acknowledging when Perry went out to speak with Mrs. Kendall and a few other people connected with the case. When he returned to the office it was after 8PM and Della was in the law library, shoes off, working.

"Hi."

Della, who had been deep in thought, bounced up, startled. He laughed until he saw her red eyes.

"I'm sorry if I scared you Della."

"It's fine."

"Can you wrap it up for the night?"

"You go on ahead, Perry."

"Della. I drove you this morning."

"I forgot." Della sighed, her eyes gazing passed him to his office. "This morning seems so long ago now."

Perry was tired, lonely, and missing her horribly. Worse, his transgression was clearly egregious and he still hadn't figured out what it was. Maybe they could talk over dinner and cocktails.

"Did you have lunch?"

"No."

"I'm surprised that you're not a puddle, as you like to say."

Della tried to smile.

"May I take you to dinner on the way home?"

"Perry I…"

"Della, we have to eat."

"Alright," she said, resigned. "Give me ten minutes to put all of this right and to freshen up."

Perry could have sung with the relief he felt, "I'm sure it will be, as ever, more than worth the wait."

Putting her work together, Della just leaned her fingertips on the table looking up at him, with her head cocked. Lifting his chin, they faced off as they so seldom did; twice, maybe three times in 11 years.

"It is _worse_, isn't it, Della? It's worse because I can't figure out what I've done?"

Arms full, Della just walked by him.

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The maître d' ushered them through the particularly effervescent room to their table in a quiet back corner. Normally she loved it here, feeling safe and cozy next to Perry in the round booth. Tonight as she sank into the pink velvet Della felt as if she had been swallowed up.

"Martinis or champagne tonight, Mademoiselle?" asked Charles.

"As Mr. Mason wishes," Della's smile was half-hearted at best.

"Champagne, rosé. Please choose whatever you think is best tonight. Martinis with the steaks."

"So shall I put in your usual dinner order, then?"

Perry tried to catch Della's eye but she just nodded as she set aside her menu. When Perry addressed Charles he caught sympathy in his eyes.

"After a glass of champagne and a dance or two… and we're famished so let's also start with a dozen oysters, whatever came in today, and the seared foie gras."

"Then two rib eyes, rare and a medium rare for the lady," Charles smiled at Della who wasn't looking. "And Roquefort on both salads."

Charles thanked them both and gave a quick bow, tossing Perry a bit more sympathy, which he gladly accepted. As the captain made his escape the champagne arrived. Perry held his glass to hers without offering any other toast. There were no words at this point.

After several sips, Perry asked, "Would you dance with me while we're waiting for dinner?"

"I don't think so; not tonight," Della opened her napkin across her lap.

"Too tired."

"Yes."

"Della…" Perry reached over to light the cigarette she had pulled from her case. "I won't ask you why you're mad at me. After all of these years…well…I feel like we know each other too well."

Della made a sound, brief, filled with sarcasm. "I _thought_ so..."

Perry paused, watching the candlelight play against her beautiful cheekbones.

"Della…you're part of me and you don't seem mad so much as... hurt," Perry leaned in earnest now, his voice low, caressing, pleading, the lazy "s" he had when tired very pronounced now. "Please tell me because you are the last person on Earth I would hurt."

Fidgeting, Della sipped her champagne briskly unable to look at him.

"Darling…" Della looked up sharply. "I know we've never made declarations about our…relationship and Della, I suppose that's my responsibility. There's been so much to consider, so much work, so little time for…us. But I…_love _you."

Della's eyes were closed to him, though. He had seen this before, a few years ago when Laura came into his life again. Then as now she completely shut him down, polite, distant, quiet, protecting herself.

Perry slipped out of the booth holding his hand out and Della finally acquiesced.

What was she going to do? There was no one in the world she could talk to about this except Perry, and she couldn't talk to Perry. They were so close, almost the same person really. To learn now that she was just a secretary after… _everything_… and that secretaries weren't for marrying… Well, her cheeks grew hot with humiliation just thinking about it.

Still here was this man against whose broad chest she rested; the only man she had ever loved, or would ever love. When Perry held her it was strong and solid and yet, somehow, soft. She had never experienced that with anyone else and here in his arms she was shocked as she found herself increasingly disposed to forgetting what he had said today.

Della always knew that she was _that much_ in love in love with Perry Mason, but she never once would have believed that she was _that_ weak.

As she relaxed into him Perry felt sharp pain in the corners of his eyes and realized they were tears. Closing his lids so he wouldn't be seen, he buried his lips in the curls at the edge of her cheeks. The softness of his lips and his openness in a room full of people—especially that—made her swoon.

The way he was holding her, his kiss, the things he was whispering to her. Della knew he had loved other women but this was a side Perry showed only to her and that had to count for something.

"Oh, Perry," Della's voice almost broke his heart the way it throbbed. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to tell me…"

But they were interrupted.

"Why Perry Mason and his lovely _secretary_! Always, always, _always_ his lovely secretary," Arthur Trent, President of the L.A. Bar Association was drunk, as usual.

"Why can't you be like this?" he burbled to his dance partner.

Turning away from the embarrassed girl—_not _his wife of 40 years—he leaned in to pinch Della's cheek but Perry was too fast for him.

Catching him by the wrist Perry said with a smile, "Arthur, somewhere around here is a pot of coffee with your name on it."

Della started walking toward the table. But Perry, seeing Charles and a waiter escort Trent off the dance floor, circled her waist pulling her back to his chest, holding her close. This was a clue, thought Perry. She had been relaxing, letting go, coming back to him and now she was stiff as a board again; seemingly wanting to push him away, while at the same time clutching at him.

"Della, you have to tell me now…" it came out angry but Perry was just concerned.

Two elegantly dressed middle-aged couples dancing near one another had recognized them.

They were only a few steps away when one wife said to the other, "Well, his _secretary_…really, what does he expect?"

"_Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

Perry stopped.

"Please take me home, Perry."

But all he could do was hold her standing there, looking at her as if he couldn't believe it himself, as if someone else in the room had said it not him.

"_Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

Perry pulled her close and kept her on the dance floor. Della didn't want to push him away because she didn't want to make a scene; also because she just didn't want to push him away.

"Please take me home," Della begged, face buried in his chest.

_"__Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

"No."

The phrase kept churning in his mind over and over until he was nauseous and still he could not figure out why he said it; what he was thinking.

_"__Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

There was no explaining this away and they both knew it. All of the excuses would come out even more insulting, if that was even possible. No, Perry Mason was caught, caught in a truth; the sentence came out the way it came out because part of him understood it, if not necessarily believed in its merit.

_"__Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

"Oh, God, Della. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sure you are," Della's eyes were watery but her lips were pursed in the first honest attempt at a smile since this morning.

_"__Secretary married to her boss, no wonder there was a little friction in the family."_

"Darling… I'm so, so sorry."

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When Mrs. Kendall was cleared and she and little Jimmy were happily reunited, Perry celebrated their good fortune with champagne back at the office. There was nothing he liked better than popping the cork on a very good bottle, or bottles, after proving his clients innocent to more than just he, Della and Paul.

Passing around the glasses Della smiled and teased Jimmy—with whom she stayed last evening at Perry's apartment—giving him bubbles made from ginger ale instead of champagne. Paul was amusing the nubile young court reporter "in training" he stole from another court room.

After their toast, Perry, Della and Lorraine stood away from the rest as Lorraine lamented returning to a home filled with her shady brother and unpleasant brother and sister-in-law, all of three of whom were looking rather glum. Della suggested it might be time for Jimmy to come home and go to school nearby.

"Did he say something to you, Miss Street?" Lorraine was hopeful.

Pursing her lips in a smile Perry recognized for a change, Della's answer was just a pair of sparkling eyes.

"I miss my husband, Mr. Mason. I loved him more than anything in the world and Jimmy did, too. I didn't marry him for any other reason than that." Lorraine paused and took a sip of champagne, tears in her eyes, "And we were _very_ happy… _he_ was very happy. I made sure of it."

"He married his secretary, Lorraine, no wonder he was happy." Perry smiled at Mrs. Kendall. "Isn't that every man's dream?"

Lorraine Kendall patted his hand then went over to Jimmy who very nearly managed to sneak a sip of champagne out of an abandoned glass.

Paul had his glass out to Della as she walked around with the bottle. After she filled it again he reached up and brushed a finger along her cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, Perry saw her tiny smile and felt a glimmer of hope. He hadn't said that to Lorraine to placate Della, he had said it because he meant it.

Della Street was already Perry's wife, in every way and she had been since she came to work for him eleven years ago. What he said must have torn her apart. She still wasn't able to put it into words for him, but she didn't need to; he knew.

After everything was cleaned up, Perry suggested they hop in the car and drive straight to their little cottage in Malibu. Perry had missed her in court, sitting next to him. If he could help it they would never try a case like that again. All that he wanted to do was spend the weekend talking with her, pampering her, proposing to her if that's what it took.

"I heard something about fishing earlier in the week…"

"I don't want to go fishing unless it's with you," Perry grinned widely.

"Well, some of the girls from secretarial school have escaped their husbands for a long weekend and were planning to get together in Santa Barbara. Originally I turned them down because we've been so busy but…"

Perry was so crestfallen that Della felt bad. But she needed a few days away from him; it was that simple.

"Sure, sure…you never see friends. You're stuck with me most of the time," he looked about five to Della when he said that.

"Well," she smiled for him, "I wouldn't exactly say _stuck_…"

"Maybe we could have dinner Sunday night…" Perry said optimistically; if he could count on that he'd just let Paul and fishing distract him for the next two days.

"Well," Della watched the floor. "I wasn't going to come back until Monday, come in Tuesday."

Perry knew the color had gone from his face but tried to be nonchalant.

"Okay. How are you planning to get up there?" Perry followed her to her desk.

"I'm planning on driving up with Stella and Barb," Della smiled tenderly at the disappointment in his face.

She wasn't trying to make him "pay," and she certainly didn't want to hurt him. This had shaken her, though; to her very core. And she needed time to make sense of it, not that spending three days with girls she went to school with 15 years ago who were all home with kids now, was going to help her.

Perry hovered as she covered her typewriter and gathered her things.

"So…I'll see you Tuesday morning," Perry just nodded so Della threw him a bone. "You can pick me up at 7. I'm sure I'll be tired of driving by then."

Brightening considerably, Perry thought he would take one more shot.

"Quick dinner now?" Perry helped her into her coat, holding her shoulders for an extra moment.

"This trip is so last minute that I have a million things to do Perry. I'm sorry," Della had picked up her bag and was slipping on her gloves as she went to the door. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

"If you want to…call me…I'll just head out to the beach. If Paul still wants to fish," Perry raised his eyebrows doubtfully having watched him with the young lady he brought tonight, "We can just cast our lines from the beach."

"Take care of yourself this weekend," Della lingered, buttoning the top button of her coat.

"I guess I'll have to," Perry had his hands in his pockets.

Della walked down the hall to the elevator. As badly as she still hurt she couldn't help worrying about him. She was so much stronger than he was when it came to daily life.

There he would be wandering around the office alone, his head consumed by work until exhaustion then he would get in the car to make that winding, hour-long drive out to Malibu in the pitch black. There was no way he could do that safely. Della yanked at her sleeve with worry recalling that, quite unlike himself, Perry had consumed much more than his share of champagne on a near-empty stomach.

Della stood in front of the elevator's gaping door, fretting. One of Perry's shortcomings had always been "running out" when they had an issue. Not literally, but in his mind, in his affection. Faced with something between them that made him uncomfortable, Perry would pull into himself, and away from her, it blew over.

Wasn't that what she was doing now, though? Only she was _actually_ leaving town. Not that anyone would say she was wrong. Not that it wasn't perfectly understandable. One thing she understood after eleven years, the one thing they _both_ understood without question, was that they always did better together than they did alone.

Della walked back to the office, realizing with some self-deprecating humor, that she was about as likely to have jumped on a plane to Egypt as she was to ever have made that drive to Santa Barbara. When she came in he was thrashing about his desk, ostensibly searching for a file, which she suspected was Ted Thornton's file since they were in court with him on Wednesday. Tie off, hair falling forward, eyes darkened—his disintegration in just the four minutes since she walked out the door was dramatic.

Della took the file off her desk and stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her. Perry was now sitting at the table in front of the sliding glass doors tearing up the neat piles she had stacked on that, too.

"God dammit where is the damn Thornton file, Della?" he yelled to no one.

"Right here, Perry."

Perry whipped around as Della walked over to him with the file extended. Instead of taking it he wrapped his arms all the way around her waist, and then some, burying his head between her belly and breasts. Dropping the file on the table she laid her cheek on the top of his head rubbing the back of his neck.

"I've been gone four minutes…and just look at this place," Della laughed her familiar, deep throaty laugh.

Perry smiled up at her, sheepishly.

"Let's forget you said it, how about that?" Della whispered.

"Della, you won't be able to do that—I know that I'll never be able to," his voice was forlorn, his enormous eyes miserable, sagging.

"_You _shouldn't! You're also going to do everything in your power to help me forget. Isn't that so, Counselor?"

"Everything."

"Let's go then…"

Della helped Perry pack his briefcase then went to her office to pack hers, which she had left behind. When he came out of the office he was also carrying the last bottle of champagne. They turned off the lights and locked the door. Perry trailed behind her down the hall like a happy puppy, not even asking where they were headed, she noticed.

When they got in the elevator Della leaned against the back across from him, watching as he beamed, all of his teeth showing making her laugh out loud.

"I'm driving. You've had a little too much champagne…"

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Perry was sitting on a low stool Della had had made for him so he could garden, despite his angry knee. He couldn't wait to get back to his beds after their long morning at the wedding. Perry didn't care much for weddings and wasn't sure why Jim Kendall had remembered them from so many decades ago but he did and they had a place of honor in the pews and at the reception.

These were different times, to be sure. In 1960 Jim's mother had faced a murder charge largely because she was a secretary with the audacity to marry her boss. Perry didn't see it that way until after the trial, after talking it out with Della who understood her predicament only too well.

Now Jim finally married _his _secretary with whom he lived for a decade and who still worked for him. Their five year-old son was ring bearer, seven year-old daughter was flower girl and Lorraine gave her son away.

Whoever said "the more things change the more they stay the same," thought Perry, was bloody mad. Twenty-six years later things were very different. Perry pitched the trowel down into the dirt and sat elbow on his bad knee, fist against his lower lip. Witnessed through that great leveler, time, Perry realized that the way Della Street had lived her life, all of these decades, was really quite something. Recalling what she overheard him say that day in the office during the Kendall trial still made him cringe.

As did his sojourn on the Appellate Court. Being back in Los Angeles meant everything to him, to them, but the nightmare and sheer stupidity of his time in San Francisco still lurked. Perry would forever be making something up to Della.

Sitting on the stool he stared into their home through the sliding doors. Della was nowhere to be seen and he needed to see her—right now and more than anything in the world. With a loud groan he lifted his hefty body off the stool, which he now realized resembled a slightly modified tree stump and felt about as comfortable, and traipsed into the house.

Walking around the kitchen then the living room, he finally heard her upstairs and lumbered up.

"Della?"

"Right here, Perry," Perry walked into their bedroom, all four dimples showing.

Della gave him a warm smile as she stood in her extremely sexy pale pink slip and heels, hanging up her dress. Covered in dirt, Della just laughed at him.

"You got in that garden faster than a little boy getting in a sandbox after church. You could have at least changed your clothes first you know?"

Perry flipped on the radio as Lee Wiley's whiskey voice was wrapping itself around "East of the Sun, West of the Moon," one of their favorite songs regardless of the musician. Knowing what this meant, Della turned abruptly when she heard the music.

"Oh, no," she laughed but it was too late, those long arms held her captive.

"Dance with me, Miss Street."

"You're dirty, Mr. Mason."

"Yes, I am…" that bright, young, twinkle in his eye made her fall in love with him all over again.

_East of the sun and west of the moon  
We'll build a dream house of love dear  
Close to the sun in the day  
Near to the moon at night  
We'll live in a lovely way dear  
Sharing our love in the pale moonlight  
_

Perry stopped dancing, delicately lifting her chin with a single finger.

"Thank you, my Darling" he said before kissing her. "Thank you for being the bravest person I know; for making us possible all of these years, no matter how impossible I made it."

_Just you and I, forever and a day  
Love will not die; we'll keep it that way _

_Up among the stars we'll find a harmony of life to a lovely tune  
East of the sun and west of the moon dear  
East of the sun and west of the moon _

Della smiled at this rare and very wise self-critique.

"My love… I only ever had one strategy… to just keep loving you more," Della unbuttoned his shirt, her eyes half-mast. Running her hands inside the open shirt, his chest hair tickling her fingers she added, "Fortunately…it wasn't difficult."

Perry didn't say anything. After all, she lied so seldom.

~Fin~

**Music:**

(Sorry I forgot this and thanks to Gail who mentioned it.)

"East of the Sun and West of the Moon" is an absolute favorite of mine-especially when Charlie Parker blows it away on "Bird with Strings." But I needed the lyrics. Lee Wiley's voice may lack the clear tone for which her generation was famous but she has soul unmatched; even the most upbeat pieces have a sad undercurrent, which is what I have always felt about Della and Perry's relationship.

I made a conscious decision not to use specific music on the dance floor because too much was going on and it was the action, at that point, that was intrinsic to the story. Thanks to you guys for even paying attention! I'm touched... :)


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